


Out of the Past

by daymarket



Series: Firesverse [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Moving On, Parenthood, Past Abuse, Post-Finale, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daymarket/pseuds/daymarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to meet her grandfather, which is far easier said than done. For Zuko, it's a struggle to break free of Fire Lord Ozai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is fairly separate from the main fic (there are some references, but nothing major) and takes place about a month after Suki's chapter. What you need to know if you're reading this as a standalone: Ursa, Mai and Zuko's daughter, is a nonbender here.

It’s not like they purposefully set out to keep it a secret. Deposing one’s father and taking the throne isn’t something that one can keep quiet, after all, and Ozai’s prison is hardly hidden. It’s just one of those things that they’d never talked about, and Zuko doesn’t think much about it one way or another until one day at dinner when Ursa looks up from her plate with a frown. “Dad,” she says, and he looks at her. “Is Grandfather Ozai dead?"

Zuko pauses, chopsticks poised in midair. Ursa looks back at him, a small frown on her face as she waits for his answer. “Um,” he says eloquently. “Why do you ask?”

“I was in the back chambers,” she says, “and I saw the old tapestries with all the old Fire Lords on them. They were a bit dusty, but I hauled them out and looked at them and then I just started thinking, I guess.” She shrugs. “We visited Grandma Ursa a couple of times, but I don’t think I’ve ever met Grandfather.”

The old tapestries. Of course. He’d had them removed a couple months after he’d been coronated in a fit of pique; there’s nothing quite as discouraging as having tapestries of scowling ancestors disapproving of his every move hanging in the halls. And yes, it’s a fine Fire Nation tradition for the Fire Lord to be stitched into immortality, but he’d broken so many traditions at that point that one more hardly seemed like a big deal. “No,” he says finally. “He’s not dead.”

“So he’s in prison, then?”

“Yes,” Zuko says. She knows the story, of course, everyone knows the story at this point about how Fire Lord Ozai was torn down at the height of his power by the Avatar. “I had it expanded over the years to become less unpleasant, but, yes. He’s still in prison.” Ursa is quiet as she digests this information. Zuko clears his throat. Feeling compelled to say something, he adds, “He’s not a nice person."

“That’s an understatement,” Mai murmurs by his side. She shifts in her seat, and Ursa’s eyes flick to focus on her. “You know the stories, of course.”

Ursa nods. “Sozin killed the Air Nomads during the height of Sozin’s comet, and then Ozai tried to do the same to the Earth Kingdom,” she says, her voice taking on the sing-song quality of recital. “But then Uncle Aang and you and everyone else stopped him and saved the world.” She pauses. “Can I meet him?"

Zuko winces. Mai answers for him, and he can hear the skepticism in her tone. “Why would you want to do that?”

Ursa gives a half-shrug. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess it would be interesting to meet him. I liked meeting Grandma Ursa.”

“They’re very different,” Zuko says. “You remember Aunt Azula, right? He’s a bit like that, only…” It’s hard to find the right words when it comes to comparing and contrasting Azula and Ozai, and he stops trying after a moment. “He’s not nice,” he reiterates. Worst father in the history of fathers, he adds in the back of his mind.

“Oh.” Ursa looks down. “Okay.”

Zuko blinks. “Okay?” he repeats. “That’s it?”

She nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I was just wondering about the old Fire Lords and stuff, but I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“Really,” Mai says, and he knows that tone of voice. Ursa tries to avoid her gaze, but Mai leans forward, relentless as a shirshu on the scent. “Ursa, what brought this on?”

Ursa’s hands are tapping a nervous staccato on the table. Zuko straightens up and pushes his bowl aside, surveying his daughter carefully. It’s strange how things change within the space of a year, he thinks a little wistfully. Her skin is a shade darker from her time in the Kyoshi Islands, but there’s more to it than that. She seems older somehow—well, obviously she’s a year older than when she left, but there’s a maturity to her eyes that Zuko is still startled to see. “I heard people say things,” she says at last, sounding reluctant. “When I was with the Kyoshi Warriors. I mean, not bad things, just…different things.” She gives a half shrug. “It was different, that’s all.”

“It’s good to visit different people and learn about different cultures,” Mai says. Her voice is gentle, but Zuko can hear the underlying steel. “There are still many old prejudices from the war, though, and not all of them are kind or easily forgotten. What did you hear?”

Ursa takes a breath. “It’s just—people,” she says. “Most of them were really nice, and so was Aunt Suki and all the Kyoshi Warriors,” she adds hastily. “But Kyoshi Island has a lot of visitors, and some of them didn’t really…like Fire Nation people. And it’s because of Grandfather Ozai and Azulon and Sozin.” She bites her lip and casts a sideways glance at Zuko. “And you, Dad.”

Zuko takes a breath. It’s been nearly two decades since the end of the war, but century-long wars aren’t easily healed, and it seems that old hatred isn’t easily forgotten, either. “We’re doing our best to build a new future,” he says, recalling conversations with Aang over this. “The United Republic is the shape of the new world, but there will always be some who oppose—”

“I know,” Ursa says hastily. “I know, Dad, I know. They were being dumb.”

“Ursa,” Mai says, her voice quiet and deadly. “Did anyone try to hurt you for being Fire Nation?”

Ursa looks up, eyes wide. “No! No. No one tried to hurt me, Mom! Nothing happened. I loved being in the Kyoshi Islands. Really, it’s okay.”

Zuko places a hand on Mai’s. “But people said some things, didn’t they,” he guesses, and the flicker of Ursa’s expression confirms it. “We don’t have the greatest history,” he acknowledges, quiet and rueful. “But we’re trying to change that through what we do now.”

“I guess…” Ursa hesitates, her fingers twisting at the Kyoshi braid on her wrist. She’s taken to wearing that since her return, he’s noticed, along with the fighting fan at her hip. “I guess I just wanted to meet him. And see what kind of person would try to…you know, kill everyone.” She sinks a little lower into her seat. “I just wanted to know who he is.”

Zuko looks at Mai, but she’s looking at Ursa, a faint frown on her lips. “Like your father said, not a nice one,” she says at last. “He’s a thoroughly unpleasant character, I’ll tell you that. Years in prison haven’t mellowed him one bit.”

“I know,” Ursa mutters. “It was a dumb idea. I’m sorry.”

Mai sighs. “Don’t apologize,” she says. “It was a question asked.” She turns to meet Zuko’s gaze. “I’ll talk about this with your father, Ursa.”

“Okay,” Ursa says, quietly enough that Zuko can hardly hear her. “Can I be excused?”

Her bowl is still half-full, but the pallor of the conversation hangs over the dinner table like a storm cloud. Zuko nods, and she stands, neatly placing her chopsticks on her bowl before leaving the room, quiet as a whisper. She moves with a silent, predatory grace now, and Zuko watches her leave with a strange weight in his chest. One year. One empty year without her in the palace, and she’s changed so much. It suddenly occurs to him that she’s growing up, and the realization is far more startling than it should be. She’s almost twelve now.

Aang was twelve when he defeated Ozai. Ozai, the proverbial elephant rat in the room.

He sighs, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Next to him, Mai is silent, but he knows her well enough to sense the tension in her body. “You’re considering it,” she says matter-of-factly, and he gives a nod. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“He knows that we have a daughter,” Zuko says. He lowers his hand and looks at her. They’ve fought about this before—back in the early days of his rule, he’d visited without telling her, and the secrets and tension between them had led to more than one fight and eventually, a temporary breakup. Now, he lets her know about his visits, and although she always declines to join him, he knows that she pays close attention to his descriptions of their conversations. “And he knows that she’s a nonbender.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t spontaneously implode out of injury to his oversized pride,” Mai says, sounding disdainful.

“He wasn’t happy,” Zuko says softly. “I told him that he had no right to be angry, and that any shame perceived was on his part, not the Fire Nation.”

“Good,” Mai says. “Letting him into Ursa’s life is a terrible idea. So’s Azula for that matter, although I suppose nothing can be done about that now. She doesn’t need their negative influence.”

Zuko blows out a slow breath, and Mai looks at him, eyes narrowed. “You think she should talk to him?”

“It’s her heritage,” Zuko says. “She’s Ozai’s granddaughter, just as I’m Sozin’s great-grandson.”

“I’m not saying she should forget the past in general, but she hardly needs to meet the man up close,” Mai says. “What is she supposed to learn from him? How to be a murdering despot?”

“How to…I don’t know. How to not be him.” He grimaces. “I learned a lot from him, even if it wasn’t the lessons he wanted me to learn.”

Involuntarily, his hand goes up to the scar. It’s still there; it’ll always be there. It’s not nearly as bitter as it was, and he honestly does forget about it most of the time. It’s still an unmistakable mark, though, and suddenly he wonders if Ursa knows the story of how he got it. They don’t speak of it, but it’s semi-common knowledge throughout the Fire Nation—and just maybe, among the people who visit Kyoshi Island. “We can’t pretend the past didn’t happen,” he says finally.

Mai’s lips tighten. “Ozai’s crimes are not hers,” she says. “I won’t have her being persecuted for the past.”

“No, but the past extends into what we’re doing now,” he says. It feels strange to be talking about this so calmly, but if the formation of the United Republic has taught him anything, it’s that the future requires slow, meticulous patience to create, and that the past can’t be forgotten even as they try to move past it. “She’s the Fire Princess. In a way, she _is_ the Fire Nation. She should know the full context of why people act and say the things they do.”

Mai’s quiet for a very long moment. Zuko moves his hand to rest over hers, and she turns her palm upwards to meet his. “Do you still ask him for advice?” she asks.

There’s only one “him” they could possibly be talking about. “No,” Zuko says. “I used to, in the early days, but…no. Not anymore.” He pauses. “Having Ursa contributed to that. I wasn’t about to start asking him for parenting advice.”

Mai snorts. “Like he’d have anything useful to say in that arena.” Her gaze flickers down to their hands laid palm to palm, and she sighs and intertwines her fingers with his. “I still think it’s an incredibly awful idea,” she says, “but you have a point. She should talk to him. Learn how not to be him. Distilled history through some textbook isn’t the same as the real thing.”

Zuko nods. He runs through his schedule briefly in his head, searching for a free slot. “I can’t do it tomorrow. There’s the meeting with the council that usually takes all day.”

“I’ll take the meeting,” Mai says briskly. “They won’t like talking to me and I’ll find it hideously tedious, but we will all just have to put up with it. You take Ursa to see him. The sooner we get this out of the way, the better.”

“The sacrifices we make,” Zuko says dryly.

She gives him a level gaze. “Anything for Ursa,” she says, and he knows how true that is.

* * *

 

The interior has been expanded some over the years, but the exterior of Ozai’s prison is as forbidding as ever. Zuko stands at the threshold, guards staring stolidly ahead on either side of the entrance. He takes a deep breath and turns to face his daughter. “Last chance to back out,” he says.

She looks up at him. “I’m ready,” she says, sounding determined and calm all at once. Her poise is admirable, and Zuko takes a brief moment to marvel at how his daughter seems to be more prepared than he is. Of course, she never had to meet the man up close before, he thinks wryly. Or hear him talk about burning the Earth Kingdom down, or get banished, or have him burn half her face off…

He shakes himself loose of the memories. “This way then,” he says. There are torches lighting the way, but he summons a flame to provide extra light as they walk along. He doesn’t miss the quick wistful look she throws at the light in his palm, but she seems to regain her equilibrium quickly, her eyes returning to the path ahead.

The sound of the cell door sliding open seems unnaturally loud. Zuko’s eyes sweep the cell for any sign of Ozai. The man is seated at a desk facing the barred window, and he doesn’t turn around at the sound of the door. “So,” he says, his voice still managing to hold traces of contempt even after years of imprisonment—or perhaps Zuko’s imagining it. It’s hard to tell. “What brings the Fire Lord before his humble servant today?”

Zuko opens his mouth to speak, but Ursa steps forward first. “Hello, Grandfather,” she says, her voice loud and clear. “I’m Ursa.”

Zuko gets to see the very rare sight of a look of surprise on Ozai’s face as he turns around. It’s gone in a flash, of course, but the memory stays: the man still straight and proud in prison rags turning to face an equally proud young girl resplendent in royal red, with Kyoshi braid on her wrist and sharp steel on her person. The two of them regard each other for an interminably long moment before Ozai stands up, his long frame unfolding from the chair. It’s been years since his father towered over him in that fateful Agni Kai, but the movement still sends an unintentional frisson up Zuko’s spine. “So at last, you have decided to grace me with her presence,” Ozai says to him. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I asked him to bring me here,” Ursa says, her chin held high. “I wanted to meet the man I’ve heard so much about.”

“I suppose my notoriety has intrigued you?” Ozai says, a small smile playing around his lips. “It’s been so long. I was afraid the world had forgotten me.”

“It’s hard to forget that you tried to burn down the Earth Kingdom,” Zuko says sharply. “Not to mention continuing Sozin’s quest of trying to subjugate the world.”

Ozai’s eyes stay firmly fixed on Ursa. “In this world, the weak fall,” he says. Now he turns to look at Zuko, a dark glint in his eye. “Or in your case, the weak wretchedly struggle on. Is this the nonbender you propose to make your heir?”

The flame still in Zuko’s hand flares up in a mirror of his temper, and Zuko takes a step forward. “Yes,” he growls. “She’s my daughter and the Fire Princess, and you will show her respect.”

“The Fire Nation is dying,” Ozai says, cool and calm. “I have no respect for those who would drag it through the mud. But then again, I suppose you’ve done nothing else since your reign.”

“I’ve done more than you ever could,” Zuko snaps.

“Ah, yes, in the name of your precious balance,” Ozai says. “Well, if you beat an eel-hound into submission, eventually he will stop fighting and resign himself to his fate. Instead of the rest of the world, the Fire Nation is the subjugated one, this time bound and condemned by its own ruler. Such a tragic end.”

Zuko tastes flame on his tongue, but Ursa speaks before he can. “And what would you have done, Grandfather?” she asks. Zuko glances at her, startled. Her hands are clasped demurely before her, her expression one of polite interest. “If you were still Fire Lord, where would the Fire Nation be today?”

Ozai looks at her, and Zuko bristles at the sudden flare of interest in his eyes. “What have they told you about your ancestor, Fire Lord Sozin?” he says. “Undoubtedly it’s a pack of lies and propaganda.”

“He waited for the height of Sozin’s Comet, and then he used the powered firebending to destroy the Air Nomads,” Ursa says. “The Air Nomads could’ve easily killed everyone, but they didn’t because they were a peaceful people and they didn’t believe in hurting others.”

“Power is nothing if you don’t use it,” Ozai says. “The Air Nomads wouldn’t lift a finger to defend themselves, and so they perished. I sought to make the Fire Nation strong. Your father is feeding off the dregs of the strength that our ancestors left him, diminishing the Fire Nation in the process. And when that’s gone?” He looks over at Zuko, a sly smile pushing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m afraid that would be quite unfortunate.”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “What are you planning?” he demands. “We’ve stopped one of your civil wars. We’ll stop you again.”

“It’s not me you have to fear,” Ozai says cryptically, his smile promising everything and nothing all at once.

Zuko grits his teeth and clenches his fist, letting the fire play over the back of his hand. Talking to Ozai is an exercise in frustration and humility; he hates that even after all these years, Ozai can still play him like a erhu. Azula learned from the best, after all, even if she still struggles with Ursa’s ghost—

Azula.

The thought pings into his head, and he struggles to keep it off his face. Azula is on her island prison, as she always has been since after Hira’a. It’s been almost twenty years. No one will listen to the mad princess, much less gather under her banner. The words rush through his head, calm and logical, but the years of fear are hard to displace.

“You’ve got no power.”

Zuko looks sharply at Ursa. She’s not talking to him but to Ozai, her arms crossed and a small frown on her face. Zuko fights back the urge to laugh—she looks uncannily like Mai when something has displeased her, usually an overzealous flatterer or some unusual act of stupidity. “Words are all you’ve got left; they’re all you can use,” she declares. “You’re saying a lot of stuff, but none of it means anything.”

Ozai tilts his head. “Your father was always disappointingly easy to bait,” he says. “As a child, he lacked strength. As an adult, he lacks wisdom.”

“And you don’t have either,” Ursa says, sounding haughty. “You’re just a old bully who’s lost his teeth. Dad and Uncle Aang made sure of that.”

Zuko is shocked by her audacity, and Ozai, if his silence is any indication, feels the same way. Zuko readies himself to leap in front of her should Ozai lunge forward—there are bars between them, but Ozai is still a dangerous man, depowered or not.

Unexpectedly, though, Ozai begins to laugh, the sound harsh and grating. “You’re very much like your aunt,” he says to Ursa. “Words are weapons too, a subtle art that your father has never managed to pick up. It’s a shame that you’re useless.” He smiles, showing teeth. “The Fire Nation needs a Fire Lord who is strong in all areas. You know, when your father was born, I considered disposing of him. He lacked the firebending spark when he was young, and I’m not surprised in the least that he passed that failure onto you. If only I hadn’t been merciful.”

“You don’t know the first thing about mercy,” Zuko snaps.

“I wish I knew less, because then the Fire Nation might have been saved,” Ozai says coldly. He looms out of the shadows, chained but not tamed, his face set in the harsh lines that Zuko learned to fear as a child. “Mercy leads you only to failure.” The dark, predatory gaze shifts over to Ursa. “I showed mercy, and here I am, trapped in this cell. I’ve ‘lost my teeth,’ as you say, because of my own kindness. If nothing else, let that be the legacy I leave to you.”

“Your _kindness_ is poison!” Zuko snarls. The torches in the room flare up in synchrony, the fire on the back of Zuko’s hand rising to dangerous levels. Zuko takes a deep breath and focuses on the flames, forcing them down to a manageable height. “Mai was right. I should never have brought you here; this was a terrible idea.” He turns to Ursa. “Let’s go.”

Zuko slams the cell door harder than strictly necessary as they leave the cell, but even the clang can’t block out Ozai’s next words. “Of course, Fire Lord Zuko,” Ozai says mockingly. “Your choices, as always, are unfailingly wrong.”

The words chase Zuko down the corridor as he leaves.

* * *

 

Standing outside the prison, Zuko leans against the stone wall and breathes in and out with the flickering of the fire still in his hand. It’s soothing, like a little heartbeat, and for a moment he feels a pang that his daughter will never know fire as intimately as he does. He glances sideways at her, almost wanting to reassure himself that she’s still there. She’s studying the entrance of the prison, a thoughtful crease between her eyebrows. Finally, she says, “I thought he’d be scarier.”

Zuko chokes on a laugh. “What?” he says, feeling incredulous. “You didn’t find that intimidating at all?”

“Well, a little,” Ursa says. “But he was just ranting a lot. There’s nothing he can really do.” She looks up at Zuko, the slightest hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “Right?”

Zuko closes his palm, letting the flame die out. “Right,” he says firmly. “It’s just words. He can’t hurt you.”

Or me, he adds silently. Not anymore. I won’t let him.

Ursa’s silent next to him, and he reaches out, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. “Ursa,” he says softly. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” Ursa begins, and then she stops. “I’m thinking that he’s sort of sad, really,” she says after a moment. “And that it’s a good thing that he’s locked up.” She nods as if reaffirming her words.

Zuko huffs softly, a sudden, indescribable weight lifting from his shoulders. “Definitely a good thing,” he agrees. “He really isn’t a nice person,” he adds almost absently, and the trivial description of Ozai, the terrifying figure of his childhood, causes a laugh to escape him. “Really, _really_ not nice,” he continues. “The un-nicest you could ever meet.”

“Dad?” Ursa says, placing a hand on his arm. He looks at her, blinking hard. “Are you okay?”

Zuko swallows hard, fighting to regain his composure before he loses it completely. “Yeah,” he says at length. “I’m fine.” He looks at her worried face. “Really.”

She reaches a hand up, and Zuko holds himself still for her as her fingers brush his scar. He can barely feel her touch through the scar tissue. “Grandfather did this to you,” she says, sounding certain and musing all at once. He looks at her quickly, startled.

“How do you—”

“I’ve known forever, Dad,” she says. “I just didn’t really think about it for the longest time, and then I don’t think I really understood.” She drops her hand and looks back at the prison entrance. “I think I do now, though.”

“You do?” Zuko says.

“Yeah,” she says. “He was really great at firebending and he likes power a lot, so he used one to try to get a lot more of the other. But that’s not right, is it? It’s not just about power or bending. It’s also about balance, because that’s what creates real strength. That’s what the future needs to be.”

“Did your Uncle Aang tell you that?” Zuko asks after a moment. “That sounds a lot like something he would say.”

She shrugs. “Yeah. But I got it from you too, and Mom and Uncle Iroh, and Aunt Suki and Ty Lee and the Kyoshi Warriors, and from Aunt Katara and Uncle Sokka and Aunt Toph and all the cousins.” She rattles off the list of relatives in a matter-of-fact manner. “I’ve got all four nations in my family. I don’t want to lose any of that.”

“That’s right,” Zuko says softly. “We all have something valuable to offer each other.”

Even you left me something, Father, he thinks. You were a warning to who I shouldn’t be. I’m not a Fire Lord like you, and I am _definitely_ not a father like you. If nothing else, let _that_ be your legacy.

He wraps an arm around Ursa’s shoulder. She squirms a little, too old and dignified at the lofty age of almost-twelve, but she acquiesces to the hug. He breathes in deeply, letting himself be centered in this moment with his daughter.

“Come on, dragon princess,” he says, using her childhood nickname. She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t protest. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
